


From What Height Fallen, So Much The Stronger Proved

by Hekate1308



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Post canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 14:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20490212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: Crowley was grooming Aziraphale’s wings when he noticed. Post-Canon.





	From What Height Fallen, So Much The Stronger Proved

**Author's Note:**

> I had feels, so now you get them too. Enjoy!

Crowley was grooming Aziraphale’s wings when he noticed. He had been doing so on a regular basis ever since the Non-Apocalypse, and Aziraphale was always eager to return the favour.

His hands stilled immediately. He then quickly proceeded, but it had still been a long enough pause that Aziraphale, gentle as always, asked, “Everything alright, dear?”

“Yes.” He forced out the word; he simply couldn’t bring himself to tell his angel the truth.

There, amongst Aziraphale’s beautiful white, swan-like feathers, a few black ones had begun to emerge. Right at the point where they met his corporate form, so he hadn’t had a chance to notice them yet.

Crowley swallowed.

He knew exactly what this meant, of course.

Everyone knew.

_Damnation_. Falling from Grace.

Becoming a demon.

And he couldn’t let it happen. Not to Aziraphale. Not to his angel.

That night, uncharacteristically it was Aziraphale who slept and Crowley who paced the bookstore. He’d incorporated his flat into the one on the first floor by a minor miracle shortly after they had finally talked about what they meant to each other that night when he’d taken the angel home with him.

He told himself to calm down and just think.

It had been six months since they had thwarted the Ineffable Plan. Which meant that this couldn’t be punishment for their actions _then_; otherwise, Aziraphale would have fallen immediately, like Crowley and the others had after the rebellion.

Another reason, then. Another reason why an angel should become so tainted that –

His heart sank.

Of course.

Aziraphale was soiling himself by cohabiting and – well doing other things (like the activities that had led him to sleep soundly for _once_) with a demon.

This was all Crowley’s fault. Because of him, Aziraphale was damned, was changing.

Because a fallen Aziraphale wouldn’t be Aziraphale. Crowley knew that from experience. A demon was a different being from an angel, even if they had been one originally.

And a world without Aziraphale was too awful to contemplate.

And so, he made a decision.

If it was him who was causing all of this, then he had to go. He could live in this world knowing Aziraphale, the angel he loved, was still in it, even if he couldn’t be with him.

He contemplated simply getting into his Bentley and leaving, but he needed to see him one last time, and so he slipped back into their – no, just Aziraphale’s bedroom now, again – just to look on his angel once more.

That in itself wouldn’t have been a problem, but he couldn’t resit the temptation (of course he couldn’t) of kissing his forehead and running his fingers through his locks – just one more time for eternity – and Aziraphale stirred.

“Crowley?” he mumbled.

“Sh” He soothed him, “Go back to sleep, angel.”

Thankfully, he did.

Crowley tore himself away. He could have taken his plants, but frankly, he was already leaving behind the most precious thing he’d ever beheld; so what good would it do?

He simply got in his car and blindly drove away.

* * *

At first, when Aziraphale woke up and Crowley wasn’t there, he decided not to worry. They might be living together now, but really, they had spent six millennia on earth and sometimes hadn’t seen each other for hundreds of years during that time; maybe Crowley had gotten cabin fever; plus he loved going on drives in his Bentley.

It was when he hadn’t heard from him until lunch that he started to wonder.

And it was only several months later, as he was misting his plants again and suddenly realized Crowley hadn’t even bothered to take them with him not because he would come back, as Aziraphale had hoped, but because he probably cared as little for them as it had turned out he did for him, that the penny dropped that he’d never see him again.

* * *

Crowley had sworn to himself to never set foot into London again. After all, it was Aziraphale’s favourite place to be (even though they had talked about eventually getting a cottage in – but he wasn’t thinking about that, just like he had spent the last six months very much not thinking about anything connected to a certain angel) and it was better to be safe than sorry.

So why he was currently walking up to Aziraphale’s bookshop was anyone’s guess. He told himself that he just wanted to check – to make sure Aziraphale hadn’t fallen despite his leaving; but he knew that was a lie. In truth, he needed to see him again – just to see him again, just once, just from a distance; and it would be enough.

Another lie, of course. But then, he was a demon. He was _meant_ to lie.

* * *

“Don’t look so downcast, dear” Madame Tracy told him for perhaps the hundredth time in the last seven months. Soon after Crowley had left (had left _him_) he’d run into her and Sergeant Shadwell. As it turned out, they came to London every few weeks or so, and despite not clearly remembering what had taken place what seemed so long ago now (everything seemed long ago now when compared to the time he’d spent without Crowley), she had decided they should meets up regularly when they did so. (Ex-)Sergeant Shadwell was less enthusiastic about it all but still accompanied her, probably, Aziraphale thought moodily, to protect her from him should the need arise.

“Aye” he said now, having the courtesy to even look somewhat sympathetic, “and maybe he didn’t mean to leave. Maybe the mafia finally got him.”

Despite the fact that he’d left Aziraphale behind without a goodbye, he couldn’t help the distressed sound that escaped him at the thought of Crowley being discorporated.

“Love” Madame Tracy told him, “This isn’t helping.” She turned to Aziraphale. “Now, I know quite the nice man… Single too, you know.”

He sighed and looked down on his plate.

They’d taken the trouble to actually go to his favourite café, and he found that – as had often been the case ever since – since – he had no appetite.

* * *

Aziraphale was not in his bookshop, so Crowley, impatient as usual, used a miracle to find him. It wasn’t like Hell would suddenly start asking for explanations again.

Ah. He knew that café well. Aziraphale had dragged him into it at least once a week when they had been –

So at least, no matter what had taken place in the meantime, this hadn’t changed.

And there he was.

Crowley’s heart beat faster.

He was sitting next to Madame Trace and Shadwell, for some reason. Well; if he wanted to see them he could, of course, especially since this was very clearly still the angel he had spent the best six months of his millennia on earth with.

He hadn’t known how worried he had been until this moment. He leaned against a nearby shop window and just breathed.

It had worked.

At the same time, he realized he was disappointed – and then cursed when it became clear to him that part of him had hoped this had nothing to do with him and he could go back to Aziraphale.

As if he’d even take him back after he’d left the way he had.

With one last glance, Crowley hurried away, intent on avoiding to tempt fate.

* * *

Feeling like he was being watched, Aziraphale turned around and caught a glimpse of someone who looked an awful lot like Crowley from behind disappearing around a corner. He swallowed. Of course it wasn’t Crowley; it never was. He’d learned that in the beginning, when he’d still waited for the demon to come home. He just wished him to be there so much, he believed it for a second.

“Something wrong, dear?”

He turned back to Madame Tracy. “No, no. I just thought I saw…” he trailed off.

She looked at him with honest pity in her eyes. “I understand” she said, patting his hand, “You loved him.”

“I still do” he admitted. He’d thought the feeling was mutual, but thinking back, even when they had finally talked about their relationship, the words had never passed their lips. Crowley had at least broken no promise, rescinded no confession of love to him.

It was cold comfort.

“Just think about what I said. About the man I know. Doesn’t have to be anything serious; just has to get your mind off certain things.”

He nodded.

* * *

A month later, he was still in London, constantly sneaking glances at Aziraphale like a stalker.

He couldn’t help it; he couldn’t be with him without damning him; but until he’d set eyes on him again, he hadn’t realized just how much he had actually missed him, and now he did everything he could just to be as close to Aziraphale as he dared, like an addict trying to get a fix.

Maybe that was what it was. And Addiction.

Maybe if he told himself that often enough, he would eventually be convinced that it wasn’t love after all. Maybe. 

It was early evening and Crowley had made his way to an Italian restaurant Aziraphale loved to frequent on Friday nights. He should know, he had taken him there often enough during their time together –

Crowley abruptly stopped walking, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.

Through the windows of the restaurant, he could clearly see Aziraphale sitting at what used to be their table.

But he wasn’t alone.

There was a man seemingly in the age of his body beside him – at first, Crowley allowed himself to hope, but then he laid his hand on Aziraphale’s in the way Crowley had only dared a month after their talk – and Aziraphale smiled at him and said something and then they laughed and –

_A few months_. That was all the time the angel had needed to get over him, if any at all. Maybe this was one of many dates he’d embarked on since Crowley had left. Maybe he’d had quite a few over the millennia, while Crowley had always been secretly pining away.

Six millennia of pining for six months Aziraphale had probably bestowed on him out of pity.

Crowley turned around and swore to himself that he’d never return to England.

* * *

Aaron as perfectly nice, Madam Tracy had been right about that. And he enjoyed good dinners too, other than Crowley, who’d mostly spent theirs watching Aziraphale. Plus, Hamlet was his favourite Shakespearian play, and he liked classical music.

And yet he didn’t make his heart beat faster, didn’t make his palms go sweaty, didn’t make him happy just by being there with him. Only one being on earth had ever been able to do that, and he didn’t want Aziraphale anymore. Maybe he never really had. Maybe he’d done what he considered the right thing at the time and had eventually grown tired of him.

The date with Aaron wasn’t the first and it wasn’t the last Madame Tracy ever made him go on. He made some friends along the way, but never found another lover. Of course not. It would just have felt shallow, unimportant, after what he’d had or had believed he’d had.

As the years went by, Aziraphale grew lonelier and lonelier, despite the fact that technically, he had many more people in his life now than before the Apocalypse. Madame Tracy and Shadwell (although slowly growing older) and Anathema and Newt and even the Them and Warlock were all lovely in their own way; and yet –

The most important person on this earth to him wasn’t there, and that fact slowly dimmed all his pleasures. He all but stopped eating, since very thing tasted like ashes in his mouth. When he tried to read, he mostly found himself staring at the same page for hours. Listening to music, every note sounded flat, the same.

The problem was that, even when they had been separated for centuries, he’d always know they’d run into each other again, felt certain that somewhere along the way, Crowley would be there. And now he was very aware that he wouldn’t.

One day, he decided he didn’t want to do this anymore. He supposed he had what the humans would have called a depression, but what did it matter? He had eternity to figure it out.

Alone.

And then he remembered something Crowley had once told him and made a decision.

* * *

Paris.

Tokyo.

Vienna.

In the last ten years, Crowley had never stayed in a place for too long, making his way all over earth (with one exception, of course, a certain country he tried not to think of), now and then tempting someone or performing small miracles for old time’s sake.

Even if he normally did his best not to dwell too long on those times because that always led to remembering Aziraphale, and then he started to wonder if he still had his bookshop and still wore tartan and still had that guy he’d seen him with or maybe a new one since he’d have to rotate them out eventually when someone noticed he wasn’t aging.

He kicked a pebble of the sidewalk. Currently he was renting a place in Los Angeles, and slowly walking back to it.

He didn’t drive the Bentley often these days. It reminded him too much of the times Aziraphale had sawt next to him and told him to go slower.

“Oh, it’s you” someone suddenly breathed with all the warmth and happiness upon beholding him most people reserved for cockroaches.

Crowley looked up and found himself looking at –

“Book Girl and Computer Boy! It’s been a while.”

“You can say that again” she said frostily.

An awkward pause.

Crowley cleared his throat. He knew what he wanted to ask, but couldn’t allowed himself to yield to the temptation. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting Anathema’s family” Computer boy said.

_Ah_. Anathema.

“And you?”

“You know, just the usual demonic stuff” he shrugged.

Anathema was busy glaring at him. “Well isn’t that _nice_. Glad to know you’re having such a _good_ time.”

He was having the exact opposite of a good time, had done so for ten long years now, but it would do absolutely no good to talk about it. “How’s Aziraphale doing? Haven’t heard from him in a while.”

He hadn’t known he would ask. The words had left his lips without his permission.

“Imagine that. Oh, you don’t have to worry, he’s doing just _wonderful_. I mean, he said his goodbyes and then told us he’d try to sleep for a few hundred years because, you know, _the love of his life_ left him, but other than that…”

Crowley's blood ran cold. Someone had had the incredibly luck of being beloved by Aziraphale and had thrown it all away? And now he’d gone to sleep for centuries? But he’d miss out on so much! There was so much food he’d never get to taste, and what if he woke up, heard new music, wanted to get an autograph and had to learn the composer had been dead for decades? He’d be so disappointed.

“Yeah, well, lovely to see you again, but we’ve got no time to chat. Come on, Newt”. And she stormed off, her boyfriend following her with an apologetic glance bestowed on Crowley.

He barely noticed them leaving.

He was already planning on retrieving his Bentley.

He had to see his angel.

* * *

The bookshop looked the same way it had when Crowley had left, and he stood in front of it for a moment, soaking in the sight. Then he snapped his fingers and entered.

Oh.

He’d been wrong.

It didn’t look the same.

There was dust everywhere, and books lying around – lying around, nothing of Aziraphale’s usual system noticeable.

This was extremly odd. Crowley knew from experience that it was all too easy to make certain nothing in one’s immediate surroundings changed while one slept for years, so this must have been what the place looked like when Aziraphale lay down. It didn’t seem like him to leave everything like this, though.

He went upstairs and found to his surprise that Aziraphale was still living in the mixture of their flats they’d miracled together ten years ago.

Even his plants looked the same, but he only gave them a passing glance as he hurried towards the bedroom.

Aziraphale was buried under a massive duvet, but at least he remained unchanged.

God, how Crowley had missed just looking at him.

But he couldn’t just stand there. He was a demon on a mission. He had to wake up Aziraphale, console him, get the name of the man or woman out of him and then go and show them what demonic wrath looked like.

After thinking about it for a moment, he changed into his snake form, then wriggled on the bed and wrapped himself around Aziraphale to squeeze him properly and let him know he was not alone.

Soon enough, he began to stir. Crowley squeezed him again.

* * *

He slowly became aware of his surroundings again and almost groaned when he realized he was waking up. It didn’t feel like much time had passed at all. How had that dear serpent done it –

Something… pressed against his ribcage and he decided to open his eyes to find out.

What he saw were eyes he’d never thought he’d behold again.

“Crowley?”

A dream; it had to be. Crowley would only ever return to him in his dreams.

The eyes blinked, then he nodded and hissed and moved away; Aziraphale wanted to grab him but was still too surprised by this sudden appearance, even if it wasn’t real.

By the time he’d made his way out of bed, Crowley had changed back to his human form, and Aziraphale wanted to cry. He looked just the same as he had the day he’d walked out of his life for good despite his habit of following the latest trends. “Hello, angel.”

“What are you doing here!?”

It probably wasn’t the politest greeting, but it was his dream and he could do what he wanted.

For a moment, he made himself believe that something like pain crossed Crowley’s features, then the demon leaned against the wall and the illusion vanished. “Heard you were throwing a bit of a temper tantrum – I met Anathema and her boyfriend – so I thought I’d check up on you.”

“I wasn’t throwing a temper tantrum. I was _sleeping_.”

“You don’t like sleep all that much” Crowley correctly pointed put.

“Yes, I – I just thought I’d try it a bit”.

“Hundreds of years is not _a bit_, angel.”

They fell silent. Then, eventually, quietly, Aziraphale said, “It’s good to see you” and reached out to touch Crowley’s hand.

He moved it away before he could.

It was then that Aziraphale realized that he was actually awake and that this was real. In his dreams, Crowley would have loved him. “Are you staying for long?” he asked in order to hide his pain that he was to be denied even the simplest touches when they had been in the habit of making out on the sofa for hours.

Crowley shrugged. “A few days, I think. Maybe a week.”

He told himself it was better than nothing.

* * *

Crowley had set himself a week as a limit so he wouldn’t give in and cause Aziraphale to fall.

Plus, he still had to get the name of his errant lover out of him, but every time he tried asking Aziraphale about the reason he went to sleep, the angel changed the topic.

They spent most of each day together, going out to eat or take a walk on St. James Park like they used to do, but it was too little for Crowley. It ddin’t matter of course; he’d known it would be too little.

And yet…

He was here. For a week, he got to see Aziraphale again.

A week for eternity.

* * *

Crowley wouldn’t sleep in their flat, of course. He went home to a hotel every night, and Aziraphale could do nothing about it.

He talked sometimes about the years they’d spent apart, and he hated himself for how carefully he listened, to guess from the tone of his voice if one or the other city had been _special_ to Crowley, if he’d perhaps found someone.

But still…

Crowley was here. For a week, he was here.

Aziraphale felt already certain that he wouldn’t contact him again, so he had to make the most of it.

* * *

It was the last evening of Crowley’s visit. When they said goodbye tonight, it would be for good.

At least, Aziraphale thought with a lump on his throat, he _got_ to say goodbye this time.

They’d gone to the Ritz of course, and he thought of their first dinner there and how full of promise everything had seemed then.

He looked down at his desert and decided he had no desire to eat it.

“Why did you leave?” He’d not meant to ask him.

When he looked up, Crowley was staring at him through his sunglasses, his expression unreadable.

“Please” he said quietly. “I think I deserve that much after everything we’ve been through.”

Crowley hesitated, then apparently decided he did indeed and started talking in that fast way of his. “I was grooming your wings one day, and I realized –“ he stopped and this time, Aziraphale definitely wasn’t mistaken; there was pain in his features as he continued, “Some of your feathers… they were turning black.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I knew.”

“You knew!?”

“Of course. These days, they’re all white again, naturally.” He felt hurt even though he shouldn’t have been. “Did you mind?”

“Did I – of course I bloody minded!”

He couldn’t help it; he flinched.

“Angel” Crowley said, suddenly grabbing his hand, and despite everything, he relished the connection. “See, there was no other way. I couldn’t allow this to happen to you –“

“What, a few of my feathers turning blackl?”

“Black feathers, angel. You know what that means!”

“Yes, I know. And that it disgusts you is equally clear” he said, wrenching his hand away and standing up. “Well, if the thought of a deeper connection with me was that abhorrent to you, you shouldn’t have asked me o stay at your place. Anyway, I have to get going, and since I guess we won’t see each other again… have a nice existence, Crowley.”

He left.

The last thing he’d expected was Crowley running after him. “Aziraphale, wait! What do you mean, closer connection? You were falling.”

He turned around. “No I wasn’t.”

“Yes, your wings –“

“I would have been able to tell if I was, you have to know that! Or did you feel more angelic from the few white feathers you got in your wings?”

Crowley stared at him. “I had white feathers in my wings?”

“You didn’t know?”

Crowley shook his head.

“We were… exchanging feathers” Aziraphale explained softly. “It happens when angels grow closer to one another, and you used to be an angel… normally they are a sign of love. It made me very happy to see them.” He wrung his hands. “I should have told you.”

“You didn’t know I didn’t know” Crowley said.

“But if you thought I was falling –“ and he realized. “Oh Crowley, is that why you left? So I wouldn’t fall?”

“The only thing that could make me leave your side, angel.”

And the they were staring at one another.

Ten years, Aziraphale thought. They had wasted another ten years in addition to the 6000 they’d already spent pretending they didn’t love one another.

He stepped closer and stroked Crowley’s cheek. “If I ask you to stay now” he said quietly “Will you?”

“Forever if that’s what you want” he replied in the gentle tone, drawing him closer. “I am so sorry –“

“It’s alright. If you stay, it’s alright.”

“Can I kiss you, Aziraphale?”

“I’d only fail to forgive you” he replied “If you didn’t.”

And Crowley threw his head back and laughed a happy laugh before complying.

**Six months later**

They were cuddling in bed. “Anathema and Newt are visiting us next week” Aziraphale told Crowley while stroking his left wing.

By now, both of theirs looked a little like chessboards. He loved it. 

“She still hates me” the demon grumbled and Aziraphale giggled then kissed his chest.

“She’ll get over it eventually.”

“If you say so.”

“Yes, my dear. Don’t forget, we have more than enough time” he said.

Crowley looked down at him, then smiled. He almost never wore sunglasses when he was around Aziraphel anymore, not even in public. “I guess we do” he admitted.

And kissed him. 


End file.
